Merrillian Part 2
He was awakened the next morning by his father's voice calling up the stairs. Heero rolled over on his back to glance at the clock and jumped in surprise as he heard a meow of protest. He'd nearly rolled over onto his cat. Quickly he rolled back to let her tail free and received a paw swatting at his face in response. Gently pushing her away, he squinted at the clock to see the time.
He groaned as his father called again.
"Heero, it's almost noon!"
Frowning, he forced himself to sit up and roll out of bed. Since he'd fallen asleep in his clothes from the day before, he didn't even bother to pull on a robe and change them. It was the weekend and he was allowed to not care, least not until after breakfast. Running his hand through his hair a few times to keep it from his eyes, he stumbled down the stairs and yawned. Not surprisingly, he found his father standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him with a raised eyebrow.
Odin Lowe-Yuy resembled his son in a large way. Like his son, his hair was a deep brown that never seemed to want to obey any brush or comb, no matter how hard he tried. However, unlike his son, he wore his hair long, pulled back in a loose ponytail while a thin and shortly cut beard outlined the bottom of his face. That, added in with his midnight eyes, just a shade darker then Heero's, gave him a ruggedly handsome look that most women would have loved. The only thing stopping any of those women from commenting was the fact that he spent most of the time in the backs of a museum work room surrounded by skeletons, mummies and old pieces of pottery. And the fact that he was a widower.
Heero merely nodded a greeting to the older man and slid into his usual chair at the table.
"Late night?"
Heero stifled another yawn as his father slid a plate of eggs in front of him and joined him at the table. "No, didn't sleep well." It was close enough to the truth, waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare to sketch out a haunting image certainly qualified as not sleeping well in his book.
"I heard you moving around when I got home, I thought perhaps you'd stayed up late." He shrugged and took a few bites from his plate. "Doesn't matter really. What'cha got planned for today?"
Heero finished off the first egg and moved on to the toast. "I was going to work on Trowa's painting."
That seemed to bring an uneasy silence down around the two of them. Odin glanced at his son with a concerned look that Heero decided not to answer or respond. His father knew how close all three of them had been. Heck, they'd spent a good amount of their time hanging out in the house in Heero's room or in the attic where his father kept all his old books from school and his supplies from when he used to teach at the local college. Odin would have had to be blind to miss how close the three of them had been, so the uneasiness was understandable. But at the same time, it occasionally bugged Heero that his father seemed to take Trowa's death so personally, almost as if it had hurt him in a profoundly deep way. Then again, maybe he was just feeling for his son, especially since Heero had also lost his mother at a very young age.
"You need any supplies?" His father asked, trying to come up with some way to divert the subject.
Heero shook his head. "No, I've got everything."
Beside them, Mimir pounced up onto the table and sauntered over to next to Heero's plate like she owned the table. Once there, she sat down and waited patiently for someone to notice her, her tail swinging back and forth in a smooth motion. Heero flashed a light smile and took a small piece of egg from his plate, holding it out on his finger for her. She ate it happily, purring softly.
His father smiled lightly. "You know you shouldn't let the cat up on the table, you'll spoil her."
Heero cleaned up his plate and flashed a smile at his father; it was an old debate that really meant nothing. Standing up, he took Mimir into his arms and scratched behind her ear. "He says I spoil you," he murmured softly. The tabby responded by nuzzling against Heero and purring louder.
This caused his father to let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. He shook his head and the laugh melted into a light chuckle. "Go work on your painting, I'll be in my office after I clean up. Just don't lock yourself in your room all day."
Heero nodded and walked to the door, exiting the kitchen. In truth, he'd planned on moving his stuff to the four-season porch they had in the back of the house so that he could paint while listening to the sounds of nature. Something about that always soothed him.
Climbing up the stairs and to his room, he let Mimir down on the bed, making his way to the closet to find something to wear for the day. He finally decided to take a shower, even though he didn't plan on leaving the house. Stripping of his clothes, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on hot, stepping under the flow. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, letting the warmth flow over his body and wash away the rest of his sleepiness.
Showers always served to calm him and stimulate his creative senses. He usually took them to clear his mind rather then just for hygiene purposes. The feel of the warm water rushing over his entire body relaxed him and let his mind wander onto things that he wanted to work on for that day. Running his fingers through his now wet hair he let his mind drift to the painting he was planning to do of Trowa sitting on the rock near the school, his favorite spot...
But that wasn't the image that came into his mind. Instead, as he closed his eyes, he found himself reliving his strange dream where he stood staring at the boy. He frowned and tried to push the image away but it didn't work. Instead the image only seemed to gain more detail.
Heero suddenly felt cold despite the warm water and felt a shiver move through his body. Sighing, he turned off the water and stepped out of the bathroom, quickly working to dry his body off and fight away the cold shivers which threatened. That was odd, he'd never felt this creeped-out after a shower before.
Frowning, he moved to his room and selected clothes to wear for the day then grabbed his supplies and headed for the porch with Mimir close behind. Maybe the actual act of painting would set his mind at ease.
~*~
An hour passed with him out in the porch, working to start the outlines of Trowa's painting. But no matter how hard he'd tried in that last hour, he just couldn't seem to get the image to look right. Something about it was always wrong, the thickness of a line, the shade of a color... everything about it seemed just a bit too dark, a bit too depressing. He'd wanted the picture to be happy, just like he wanted to believe that wherever Trowa was now that he was happier. Still, no matter how hard he tried, it didn't seem to work.
Sighing, he set down the brush and frowned at the painting. At first he'd thought the reason it was turning out so dark was that his feelings of loneliness without his friend were surfacing after he'd tried to bury them for so long. But as he worked, nothing seemed to turn out right, and he started to suspect a different culprit. A different picture in his mind wanted to be painted and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it to go away.
Too lazy to go back up to his room and get another piece of canvas, he stood up and just decided to paint over what he'd already done. Trowa's painting wasn't going to turn out today and he might as well use the piece of canvas he had rather than throwing it away and starting all new. Besides, the colors he'd already used were dark enough to fit the picture floating in his mind.
Mimir sat behind him on the window ledge, watching with curiously wide eyes as he began his work. As soon as he began consciously working on the painting and not ignoring it anymore, the whole thing seemed to come out so much easier. The world around him faded away and soon came to consist only of his palette and paint brushes. He didn't hear the sounds from outside anymore, and even the fading sunlight didn't hinder him as clouds moved through the sky. In fact, he found that the fading light made it easier to paint and imagine the picture in his mind. So when the clouds grew thicker and the sunlight became much more muted, he didn't even bother to turn on the light.
The air from outside shifted so he could smell it through the screen windows. Rain was approaching and that wasn't the best environment to paint nor leave a wet canvas in. So, despite the fact that his muses seemed to be on a role, he stopped and set down his brush.
Mimir jumped down from the sill where she'd been resting and walked around his legs, brushing up against him. Heero frowned and took a few steps back to get a full look at what he'd painted.
The image that stared back at him from the canvas seemed to do exactly that, stare. Hanging within a cave of dark and dreary colors was the boy; suspended in the air by the thin and ornate chains, his body seemed to glow in the darkness. Heero had added little bits of the red light which he'd seen rush up the chains so that everything in the picture had a soft red tint, as if the boy were being seen through a rose colored lens. His hair flowed down around his body in waves, delicately and tastefully covering what otherwise wouldn't have been hidden by his lack of clothing.
Heero frowned as he looked at the image and, for a moment, his eyes drifted back to the brush. He usually loved it when his muses pulled him into a daze and he didn't really realize what he was painting until he took a step back and forced himself to stop, but this time, the whole image was just a little too creepy even for his tastes. The image of the boy hanging there... it looked so real that he almost expected the chains to sway slightly as a small rain salted breeze drifted through the room. At the very least his mind expected the hair to shift, even the slightest bit. Heero couldn't tear his eyes away from the painting, almost completely sure that the moment he did the boy would move.
Shaking his head of that nonsense, he began to clean up his supplies as a light rain began to fall outside. He put the brushes away and cleaned up the palette, glancing just slightly at the painting... and froze.
In the corner of his eye he watched in amazement as a hand swept across the painting, ripping the boy and the chains from where they hung. The boy's face cried out in fear and pain as he disappeared beneath the large red hand.
Heero whirled around to stare at the painting, but found it to be exactly as he had painted it and the boy was still hanging there... nothing had changed.
He dropped the handful of brushes and staggered backward, leaning against the wall and covering his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, then slowly opened his eyes and looked at the painting... once again nothing had changed.
Heero glanced down to see Mimir staring up at him, her head cocked to one side.
"I must have gotten less sleep than I thought last night."
Shaking his head one last time, he grabbed the painting and carried it back to his room, being quite careful to avoid looking at it any more. As soon as he made it up to his room, he set it safely in the closet where it could dry and shut the door. As soon as the door slid shut, he was able to breathe a sign of relief, as if a huge weight had been pulled off his shoulders. Rushing to clean up the rest of his supplies, he grabbed his raincoat and left the house. He didn't care that he usually told his father where he was going; he just needed to get out of the house.
~*~
Catherine's room wasn't much to speak of, but not because it was small. In fact, it was far from small. She lived in the attic of her parents' house which spanned across the entire space of the house, making it seem more like a studio apartment then a bedroom, aside from the fact that she was missing a stove, a bathroom and a couple other household normalities. Her few belongings were scattered about the room, making it seem even larger, since they really only consisted of a bed, a cushioned chair, a TV, a Japanese table and whatever else she could fit on the shelves which lined three walls of the room. Most of the floor space was wide and open, which she used to dance in while no one else was looking. She'd always loved to dance...
But now her eyes moved across the room to glance over at her friend. Heero sat on the comfy chair, the TV dancing in front of him. But his eyes weren't watching the TV; instead his head was turned and he was staring out the window as the rain pelted down. It was the same way he'd been sitting almost since she'd invited him in from the rain. He sat there now his hair finally starting to look dry, as his eyes gazed out the window with a glazed expression. She shouldn't have been surprised that he was spacing out again, he did it so often, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
Closing her schoolbooks, she stood up and walked over to the chair, sitting on the armrest that he wasn't using. "Earth to Yuy, you keep acting like that and my mom's gonna store you down in the basement with all my old dolls."
Heero blinked away the spacey-ness and flashed a small smile at that. "Sorry," he murmured.
"It's getting late. You should probably call your dad or something. Or at least come down stairs with me so we can get something to eat, I'm hungry."
He frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Cathy, do you mind if I stay the night?"
Her eyebrow shot up in question. "No, of course I don't mind. I never have silly, you're always welcome to stay. Something happen at home between you and your dad?"
He shook his head. Standing from the chair, he glanced around the attic room quickly then gave a small shrug. "I have to call him and tell him I'm not coming home tonight. I'll be right back."
She watched him leave the room with a confused look on her face. True, she'd thought it was quite strange when he'd shown up at the door with a raincoat draped over his shoulders asking to be let in. He hadn't even taken the time to put the coat on correctly, almost like he was in an extreme hurry to get somewhere... or away from something. That by itself bothered her, and the way he spent the rest of the time sitting in her chair just staring out the window only added to her worries. Heero Yuy spaced out occasionally; everyone did, but he usually only did it when he had a sketchbook in his hands or a piece of canvas in front of him. He almost never spaced out when he was around his friends, at least he hadn't when Trowa was around.
Catherine sighed and leaned back, falling into the main part of the chair. Reaching over, she hit the remote so that the noisy box switched off and then turned her gaze to the ceiling. Something was definitely bothering him, and it was big. But she knew him better than to badger him about it, that would only make him bury it more. Trowa used to be so good at getting Heero to open up and share his feelings; she wished he was here now. But then again, Trowa might actually be the source of those hidden feelings and that reminiscent look on his face. She frowned, she just couldn't win.
Standing up, she smoothed out her loose jeans and walked to where she'd laid out her homework across the floor. Kneeling down, she closed what was left of the books and picked them up, dropping them on her bed, forgotten. She'd do her homework later. Right now, she was much more worried about what was eating away at Heero... not to mention that she wanted some dinner. So she left the room and headed down the stairs to the kitchen where she knew Heero had gone for the phone.
Passing by the door to the basement, she lightly kissed her fingers and touched the door. It was a matter of habit now, but she always thought about him when she passed the door. It was one of the ways she'd dealt with his not being there after his death. Every time she passed the door she'd touch it, even if for only a moment. Just like how when he'd been living, if she ever found that door shut, she'd open it and go down and give him a mock lecture about cutting himself off from the rest of the world. She'd never been serious when she did that and it was usually to bug him. Most of the time, they'd both gotten a good laugh out of it and he'd shut the door just to get her attention.
She smiled softly at the memory and walked into the kitchen just in time to see Heero hanging up the phone.
"You didn't tell him you'd come here in the first place did you?"
He shrugged lightly. "He knows if I'm not home then I'm over here. That's been the norm for the last ten years."
She chuckled. "You hungry? We got cold pizza in the fridge."
"Shouldn't we warm it up?" He poked back with a small smile. It was an old argument; Trowa had always hated cold pizza while Heero and Catherine loved it.
"Naw, it tastes perfectly good cold, and you know it." Opening the fridge she pulled out a plate covered with aluminum foil and winked at him. Heero grinned back and grabbed two cans of pop, then followed her back up the stairs.
They spread the food out on the low Japanese style table and proceed to eat, spending the rest of the night munching at the cold pizza and discussing things of no real importance. Catherine never did get a chance to badger him about what was bothering him so much, but she let it slide in favor of the current lively conversation they were having. Why ruin the mood? She hadn't had this much fun in ages.
~*~
There was that pulling feeling again, like something had latched gently around his arm and was pulling him away from where he slept. For a moment, after he tried to open his eyes, he could see Catherine's dimly lit room around him, then he was pulled away. Once again he didn't struggle against the touch, but this time he actually willed it to go faster, eager to try and solve this strange mystery and image he kept seeing.
Homes flew by on the street, neighborhoods, office buildings, trees, cars and street lamps until once again he found himself in that room of muted white. Mechanical beeping echoed loudly around him and everything flashed, melting away into darkness just like the night before.
This time he didn't crash onto the ground, but instead landed more softly on his feet. Shaking his head, he glanced around and looked up, not surprised to be welcomed by the exact same image of the boy being suspended above him.
Except, this time there was a change, because the boy's head was turned and his eyes locked with Heero's. Heero noticed the boy's eyes were a beautiful shade of blue that bordered on violet in the strange lack of light. As their eyes met, a small smile tugged its way across the boy's face, despite the obvious pain.
"Who are you?" Heero whispered quietly, stepping closer to the boy. This time, he was careful not to touch the chains, because that was the thing that had caused the dream to end last time.
The boy opened his mouth and seemed to say one short word, but he still appeared to have no voice. When no sound came out, his expression fell and he frowned in disappointment. There was a pause, as if he seemed to be thinking, then he began to move. Heero watched as he strained against the chains enough to move one of his arms down in Heero's direction.
At that movement, Heero felt himself slowly begin to lift off the ground. His eyes widened as the air around him seemed to become thicker, almost like he was floating in water. With a simple kick of his legs, he was able to float upward until he was right next to the boy. Staring with wide eyes, he reached out to clasp the boy's soft hand. It was ice cold to the touch and both boys gasped and shuddered from the touch.
At that same moment, red light rushed up around them and Heero was knocked backward painfully. He was falling again, but this time there was no panicking for he knew he wouldn't fall. An image of the boy's face appeared in front of him; the boy was smiling, and then... darkness.
~*~
Heero's eyes snapped open and he tossed away the quilt which he'd wrapped around his body. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm himself down. It hadn't been a nightmare, really, so why was he covered in sweat and chilled to the bone at the same time? His breath came in short gasps and he had to consciously work at getting his heart rate to slow in order for his body to calm down. Finally, after he'd relaxed, he shifted in the large chair to glance at Catherine's bed where she lay quietly, sleeping as if nothing had happened. Good, he hadn't wanted to wake her.
Moving slowly and quietly, he stood up and set the quilt back on the chair. He took the smaller blanket he'd also been given and wrapped that one securely around his shoulders then made his way out of the large attic room. It was perfectly normal for him to sleep in Catherine's room in her large chair, so none of their parents thought twice about it. They trusted their children and knew that the friendship between the two was deep, but not anywhere near sexual.
In fact, only a few years ago, all three of them had actually slept on the floor sharing one large quilt as their bed. That practice was stopped not because of their parents, but more for their own comfort. While sleeping between the warmth of others was comforting, there were just some things that one didn't feel comfortable doing after a certain age, no matter how close they are to each other.
Moving down the stairs as quietly as he could, he listened to the silence, registering the soft snoring coming from Catherine's parents' room. They were just as soundly asleep as their daughter which was fine by him. He had no desire to wake them.
His steps led him completely down the stairs and around the hallways to a door which was almost always closed now. Hesitating only a moment, he turned the knob and opened the door, staring down into the darkness below. He didn't bother with the light switch, not needing it to see where he was going. Very little moonlight shone down the stairs so he could barely see, but he knew the stairs by heart. He knew their exact number, which ones were grooved and worn, which ones would creak and which ones would groan. It was amazing the memories a mind would retain even after almost a year of not even looking in the same place.
Placing his hand on the railing and using the other to keep the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he began down the stairs. The air around him was cold despite the mildly warm spring days outside; the basement had always been cold. It wasn't an uneasy cold, but more comforting. He wasn't' sure how that worked, but Trowa had said once that the cold of the basement was comforting in a strange way and Heero had agreed with him. And now, even when Trowa was no longer here, the chill in the air was comforting.
Only when he reached the bottom of the stairs did he reach up and flip the light switch. He was greeted by a room that hadn't changed since the last day he'd seen it. Obviously there wasn't a body hanging from the rafters, but other than that it was still Trowa's room, left exactly the way he remembered. For a long moment, he just stood there, taking in the sights as his mind painted memories over each and every single item.
He remembered the old record player in the corner which would play old tunes that Trowa always seemed hold a particular soft spot. The music would play and Catherine would pester them to dance, insisting that music deserved to be danced to. But both would always sit on the bed and decline, until she became frustrated and actually grabbed their arms, yanking them off the bed and onto the floor. She'd try her best to get the two boys to dance and it always ended with them tumbling to the ground laughing until they finally gave up and just lay on the soft carpet, listening to the record finish its songs.
He remembered the large and worn stuffed lion that sat on Trowa's bed, one of its eyes missing from being loved so much. Trowa had sworn up and down that he'd stopped sleeping with the stuffed animal a long time ago and that it now sat on his bed as a small piece of his childhood. Then one day his mother had tried to put it out in the pile of things to be sold at a garage sale, and Trowa had rushed in quickly to save it. He also remembered the nights where Trowa would forget that he was staying over night and would roll over to hug the stuffed lion, snuggling it tight against his chest like he used to do when he was very young. It had been such a cute picture...
Heero allowed himself a wistful smile as his eyes moved across the room, looking at each of the items. He basked in the small memories like they were yesterday; remembering how they'd all laughed and smiled together. The inside jokes that had always made them chuckle, the small things that they'd always been annoyed at. Poking fun at each other, playing the old games, Catherine trying endlessly to get someone to dance with her, them always pestering Heero about showing off his paintings, the day Trowa had gone with them to the circus and the look of pure delight which had covered his face...
"Gods I miss you," Heero murmured softly, his attention turning to a painting that hung on the wall. It had been a gift he'd painted for Trowa on his birthday, a kind of entering-high-school gift. It was a picture of Trowa standing in the shadows, holding a mask up to cover half of his face. The actual mask lay below the painting on a table; it had been a gift to Trowa from one of the clowns when they had visited the circus. The clown had given him the mask after it had accidentally broken. Trowa loved it and had actually taken the time to patch it up until it looked like brand new. He'd always loved that mask, just as he'd always loved the circus. So at the time it had made perfect sense for Heero to paint him with that mask...
Sitting down on the old and beaten couch, Heero smiled softly at the painting. His friend's olive green eyes looked back at him with a warm look of welcome. That look in itself, despite the fact that it was from a painting, was enough to completely calm Heero even after the strange dream. Tugging the blanket closer around his shoulders, he drifted off to sleep, comforted in the thought that even though his friend was dead, he was still watching him.
TBC...
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